Nova’s palm thumped against her handgun, but she changed her mind and grabbed the shock-wave gun instead. The alley was almost empty but for half a dozen metal trash cans and piles of heaped-up garbage bags overflowing against each wall. The smell was putrid—rotting food and dead fish. Nova kept her breaths shallow, fighting the urge to gag as she ducked through a throng of houseflies.
A noise made Nova jump and she spun around, shock-wave gun leveled at one of the trash bags. A scrawny cat yowled and darted through a broken window.
Nova exhaled.
A battle cry rang out, echoing through the alley. The lid of a trash can blew upward as Hawthorn launched herself out. A thorny limb snatched the gun from Nova’s hand, leaving a burning welt on her palm.
Hissing, Nova reached for her handgun as Hawthorn took the shock-wave gun into her hand.
Nova drew her gun, but Hawthorn fired first.
Nova was thrown back into a pile of garbage bags, her body vibrating with the concussive blow.
Hawthorn ran the other way. Danna formed in the woman’s path, her body poised for a fight. Hawthorn aimed for her, too, but Danna dispersed into butterflies before the crackling energy could hit her.
The insects cycloned. A heartbeat later, Danna dropped out of the sky onto Hawthorn’s back.
Three of Hawthorn’s six limbs wrapped around Danna’s body, slicing across her back. Danna screamed as the thorns dug long gashes into her skin. Hawthorn hurled her at the wall and Danna crumpled to the ground.
Struggling to her feet, Nova grabbed the nearest trash can and threw it as hard as she could.
Hawthorn cocked her head and whipped out one of the tentacles, easily batting away the garbage can. Another limb reached into a nearby pile of trash bags and pulled one off the top—Nova recognized the slit in its side. Hawthorn began her spidery climb up the wall, her extra limbs reaching for the bars on windows and bracketed lights. She reached the roof and disappeared.
Nova raced down the alley. Hawthorn’s goal became clear the moment she burst onto the street and saw the short bridge spanning Snakeweed River. Hawthorn was already at the bridge’s railing. She shot one hateful glower at Nova, then hurled herself from the bridge.
Though Nova’s legs were burning and her lungs felt ready to collapse, she pumped her arms faster, urging her body forward. She only had to see where Hawthorn surfaced and she would be in pursuit again.
But when she reached the bridge, her heart sank.
Hawthorn hadn’t fallen into the river.
She’d landed on a barge.
It was plowing steadily through the waves, putting more distance between Nova and the criminal with every heartbeat.
Surrounded by shipping containers, Hawthorn waved tauntingly back.
Nova curled her fists around the rail of the bridge, envisioning the river’s path. There were four more bridges before it emptied into the bay. Hawthorn could depart at any one of them, but there was no way for Nova to catch up and find out which one.
Nova cursed. Her knuckles whitened as she squeezed her hands into fists.
There had to be another way to follow. There had to be another way to stop the prodigy. There had to be—
Pounding footsteps caught her attention.
Nova spun around. Her pulse skipped as she saw the man in a shiny armored suit charging straight for her.
The Sentinel.
Skin prickling, she reached for her gun, preparing for a fight.
But the Sentinel ran past her and launched himself into the air with the force of a jet engine.
Nova’s jaw fell as she followed his trajectory. His body arched up and out over the river and for a moment he seemed to be flying.
Then he descended, graceful and sure, his body braced for impact.
He smashed down onto the deck of the barge, inches from its ledge.
The Sentinel stood, briefly striking a pose straight out of a comic book.
Nova couldn’t refrain from rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, show-off.”
If Hawthorn was shocked, she didn’t show it. With a shout, she sent all six brambled limbs driving toward the vigilante.
Nova sort of hoped she was about to witness the Sentinel being impaled, but then he extended his left arm. A bonfire exploded from his palm, engulfing the tentacles. Even from so far away, Nova could hear the woman’s screams as she reeled her limbs back.
Extinguishing the flames around his hand, the Sentinel tackled Hawthorn with such force that both of them rolled behind the stack of shipping containers.
Nova pressed her body against the rail, squinting into the morning light. For a long time, she could see nothing, as the barge clipped through the water.
Before it reached the next river bend, though, Nova spotted movement on its deck.
She grabbed the binoculars from the back of her belt and found the barge. The lenses’ programming zoomed in on the deck.
Nova’s eyes narrowed.
Hawthorn’s clothes were singed from the Sentinel’s flames. Blood splattered her bare arms. The left side of her face was swelling around a cut on her lip.
But she was still standing. The Sentinel, on the other hand, was sprawled at her feet, his body wrapped from shoulders to ankles in the barbed limbs.
As Nova watched, Hawthorn dragged the Sentinel’s body to the back of the barge and dumped him over the edge.
The heavy armor sank immediately into the murky water.
Nova drew back. It happened so fast, she was almost disappointed by how anticlimactic it was. She was no great fan of the Sentinel, and yet, there had been a small part of her that had hoped he would at least catch the thief, as he’d caught any number of criminals over the past few weeks.
Hawthorn glanced up once more in Nova’s direction, her smirk caught dead center in the binoculars’ view.
Then the barge rounded a bend in the river and she was gone.
Sighing, Nova lowered the binoculars.
“Well,” she muttered, “at least I won’t have to worry about him anymore.”
CHAPTER THREE
ADRIAN SURFACED BENEATH Halfpenny Bridge. He struggled to the shore and collapsed, startling a hermit crab who darted beneath a lichen-covered rock.
He attempted a deep breath of blissful air, but it caught in his throat and led to a bout of coughing. His lungs were burning from holding his breath for so long, he was light-headed, and every muscle ached. Grit and sand clung to his drenched uniform.
But he was alive, and for the moment, that was enough to bring a grateful laugh mingling with the erratic coughs.
It seemed that every time he transformed into the Sentinel, he learned something new about himself and his abilities.
Or, lack of abilities.
Today he had learned that the Sentinel’s armor was not watertight. And also, that it sank like a rock.
His memories of the flight were already starting to blur. One moment he’d been on the barge, preparing a ball of fire around his gauntlet, sure that he would soon have Hawthorn begging for mercy. Those brambles of hers looked flammable, anyway. But the next thing he knew, he was entangled in her tentacles, which turned out to be as strong as iron. One of the thorns had punctured the plate of armor on his back, though it luckily hadn’t made it through to his skin.
Then he was sinking. Surrounded by blackness. His ears clogging with the pressure, and water leaking in through the joints in his suit. He’d been halfway to the bottom of the river when he retracted the suit into the tattooed pocket on his chest and started kicking toward the shore.